Recipe For Wounded Beast
by Dr. Phoenix
Summary: Based on 1991 movie. An ambassador arrives from another kingdom to visit Adam, who is now king. The spell has long since been broken, but its memory is still fresh in the minds of the servants, as the forest workers demonstrate by preparing a delicacy known as "wounded beast" in the ambassador's honor. (Proof you shouldn't watch nature documentaries when hungry?)


As I entered the forest, everything seemed tranquil. Cardinals fluttered about in the evergreen trees, which were like dark emeralds against the newly fallen snow. It was nearly possible to believe the legends I had heard about the French royal household, for these woods did indeed seem the ideal setting for a fairy tale. I could imagine an enchantress or some manner of magic appearing from behind the trees that graced the banks of the frozen river.

I was so caught up in my reverie that I failed to notice three dark forms moving from toward me. All of a sudden, three creatures slipped from the shadows and rushed in front of my horse. Although frightened, I seized my sword, determined to fight.

"Back!" I ordered.

One of the creatures crossed its arms. "This is our forest! We'll decide who retreats!"

"Forgive me," I managed to stammer. "I didn't realize you were human. I noticed three silent figures moving effortlessly through the woods, and I thought you were wild animals. That is to say, I mistook you for wolves. You are wearing fur coats, after all."

The next thing I knew, I was flung from my carriage into a snowbank. Before I could rise, I had been pinned to the ground while snow was crammed down my sleeves and the back of my shirt while the back of my coat received several strokes from the broadside of a sword. One of the men finally turned me to face him, the tip of his sword resting against my throat.

"That was a warning," he remarked. "The bosses are even less patient than we are. We don't know how it is in your country, but when in the presence of the caretakers of the royal forest of France, mistaking someone for a wolf is a good way to get yourself killed."

"We don't tolerate wolves around here," a second man added. "There was a pack that nearly killed our masters."

"So the penalty for a mistake is death?!" I asked, too cold to be afraid.

The third man nodded. "There are a lot of us around here who almost died for simple things: wrong decisions, wrong turns in the woods, wrong words during a quarrel…"

My eyes widened in astonishment. "Your kingdom certainly has harsh laws!"

"Only law of this forest is the law of survival," the second man remarked. "You're not doing such a great job. Hypothermia's a killer. You want to shake the snow out of your shirt."

I stood and did as he suggested.

"You'd better have a good reason for traveling down this road," the third man stated.

"I'm an ambassador," I explained. "I was sent to France to…"

"Why didn't you say so?!" the first man exclaimed. "The masters have been expecting you! Get back in your carriage, and we'll give you a proper escort!"

Once again, I did as I was bidden. As my horse made its way to the castle, I wondered whether or not I should speak to King Adam about the behavior of his servants. I didn't wish to offend him by saying that I had mistaken them for wolves, but at the same time, I didn't think their attack was the proper way for servants to greet an ambassador.

When I arrived at the castle, I was informed that the stablemen would care for my horse. Nodding, I followed the three forest workers through the doors.

A similarly dressed man limped toward us. "Welcome, Mr. Ambassador. I trust my men gave you a safe escort through the forest."

"They threw me into a snowbank!" I complained. "All I did was mistake them for wolves, and is that my fault?! They're wearing fur coats!"

"Threw you in the snow for calling them wolves, did they? I would have thrown you into the river." His hazel eyes held a dark amber flame. "I've attempted regicide for less."

Unsure of what to say, I kept silent.

"My sister is in the kitchen, preparing a delicacy, _wounded beast_ , in your honor. Make no remark about her broken arm, and you mustn't be surprised when you see her, a woman in men's clothing. Dresses would be impractical for work in the forest."

"Naturally," I replied. "When do I see King Adam?"

"At dinner. Come."

I followed him as he limped to the kitchen, where the warmth of a fire and the scent of herbs filled the room.

"Let me tell you our national legend," a woman stated as she worked, unhindered by her permanently fractured limb.

From the way she was dressed, I assumed she was the sister of the limping man, but I didn't ask.

"Once upon a very cold night, an old man got lost in the forest," she began. "He soon found himself at the castle of a horrible beast, who was furious at the intrusion."

She added logs to the fire, causing it to blaze hotter and with more ferocity. The dancing flames nearly matched the embers of her eyes.

"The man's daughter became worried when he didn't come home, and she began searching for him. When she found him at the beast's castle, she agreed to take his place."

Here the woman paused to lift one pot from the stove burner and place another where the first had been.

"The beast ordered her to stay out of the West Wing." She began plucking petals from a rose and placing them on a platter. "That was where he kept his enchanted rose, and when all the petals fell, he would be cursed with a fate worse than death. They were falling at an alarming rate because he had not yet learned to love and be loved in return."

I nodded to show I understood. I had been told a similar fairy tale by my own king before leaving for France.

"The girl was frightened of the beast, and the salt stung her eyes as she wept." She threw onion and a sprinkle of salt into the pot. "Only a few hours after arriving at the castle, she fled into the forest, where she was attacked by wolves, but before they could destroy her, the beast arrived. He seized the creatures in his massive paws, and…"

The woman told no story aloud at this point, but she picked up some sort of leaves used as seasoning, ripping them in two and breaking their stems. With short, rapid strokes, she chopped them until they were nearly powder. Having finished, she added them to the kettle.

"But the beast was not without wounds." She stirred the contents of the kettle, letting some pour from the spoon to show me that the liquid mixture was red as blood. "He collapsed helplessly."

I cringed at the thought.

"When wolves wound a large beast, instead of risking injury by going in for the kill, they'll retreat a short distance and wait for it to bleed to death."

She removed meat from the oven, placing it on the platter of rose petals and covering it in the red sauce.

"The peasant girl took pity on the dying beast and returned him to his castle."

The woman placed the platter over a low flame on the stove.

I hadn't meant to sigh audibly with relief, but that's how involved I had become in the story. It seemed so real.

"She washed out his wounds." The woman began filling a pitcher with water. "The beast spent the rest of his life complaining that it felt like lemon juice on his injuries." She added some to the water. "You will admit that it was very sweet of her to help." Here she stirred in some sugar.

"Nicely told," the limping man commented.

His sister, the storyteller with the broken arm, began pouring the contents of the pitcher into glasses. I made sure to compliment the tastiness and graciously accept a second helping.

"The platter feels warm enough." She removed it from the flame and cut a small piece of meat. "Will you try it?"

I was hesitant to try any dish called _wounded beast_ , but I didn't wish to cause offense, especially if this was a national delicacy, so I accepted the meat she held out to me. To my surprise, it was delicious.

A tall, thin man entered the kitchen. "The masters wish to know if their guest is ready."

"He is," the limping man answered. "But you lost the bet. We told him the legend, and he's not disgusted. You know what that means, Lumière."

Lumière pouted and sighed. "Very well. A gentleman always keeps his word."

The woman with the broken arm placed a lit candle in each of his palms.

Turning to me, Lumière began, " _Mon cher monsieur,_ it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight, and now we invite you to relax, let us…"

"Stop!" An overweight man rushed into the kitchen. "You're not dancing with lit candles! You'll burn down the entire castle!"

"Cogsworth, _mon ami,_ I have no choice in the matter! I have lost a bet with the forest workers!"

Cogsworth turned to them. "The day off tomorrow and a gold piece for all of you if you don't make him embarrass himself in front of the masters' guest!"

The limping man nodded. "Done!"

Both Lumière and Cogsworth seemed relieved.

I fear I'll never understand King Adam's servants.


End file.
